The Commander's Pet
“Tell me who owns that sweet mouth, boy.” My dad's best friend growls through my headphones, his deep, baritone voice rough as sandpaper. I grip my pillow, a helpless moan tearing from my throat at the sheer weight of his words. His rumbling command echoes directly into my ear, relentless and dark. “Now touch yourself and come for your Commander.” That single order shatters me, sending me crashing over the edge. “Good boy,” he murmurs into the mic.
At nineteen, I always considered myself solidly straight. That is, until late-night curiosity leads me to an invite-only anonymous audio app…and straight to the profile of Commander. No photos, no name. Just an insanely deep, commanding voice, br